“Ay yo maybe you shu change the name of dat song ta HEY HO and meet me on the dance FLO!“

“Heyho” (as I immediately dubbed this man) and friends immediately began going ape shit, solidifying their satisfaction of his most recent joke through noises like:

OHHHHHHHHH SHIT. OH SNAP SONNNNN YOU RIGHT. YOU RIGHT! DAT WUZ A GOOD ONE YO.

Chest pump

Hand slide

One of these:

Unphased by his spontaneous poetry, Meg pointed at him and said:

“Ew that makes you sound like you have an STD!”

To which he said

“Wut can I say baby gurl. Imma diiirrrrrttttyyyy boy.”

No one was turned on by this.

And the song was tainted shortly afterwards.

Heyho lingered for a majority of the night, inflicting various episodes like, introducing us to his attire:

“Yo. Check it. DIS BE MY MUSCLE TEE.”

How goes it…muscle tee…

Followed by a distribution of his business card that posed bar-friendly questions like:

“Got Diabetes?”

“Got High Blood Pressure?”

Nope…but uh…thanks for asking… *puts down sugary margarita*

Followed by an offering of his authentic e-mail address cleverly spelling “life”…”lyfe” with a series of numbers attached to the end of it. You know, just in case we wanted to…keep in touch:

Lookin professional Heyho

But wait.

There’s more.

He even threw in a free gift.

A magnet.

A magnet with a collage of meese (my preferred plural of moose)

with a lingering troll hand drawn in the bottom left hand corner:

Gaggle of meese + a troll named Janet? Let’s get this party started.

Free gifts and muscle supplement opportunities in hand, I very willingly twirled the fuck around and attempted flee the free gifting-t-shirt introduction ways of Heyho.

Suddenly.

I was greeted by someone else.

Someone with a hat.

Someone with a hat and a matching sweater.

Cool combo.

I can’t recall his name.

So we’re going to go with a classic name. Like. Bartholomew.

Barth threw a margarita is someone’s face.

Then moseyed over in our direction. And as it turns out, he was a distant frenemy of Heyho ready to stir up drama at the local Turkey’s Nest. I explained to him that Heyho showered me with free gifts and cotton tee intros, and asked him if he could per chance “Top that shit?”

And so he rapped.

And it really twasn’t until the next morning when I played back the video of his recorded rap on my cellular device, that I witnessed myself dancing like a free-style animal to his homemade lyrics of:

“Ay yo trick ya you looking like a Hatian, but wait – OH SHIT! YOU’S AN ASIAN! I wanna spank ya’ll, from ya ankles, then I wanna eat some biscuits from BOJANGLES.”

^ Bojangles.

At that time the specifics of his hand-crafted lyrics fell on deaf ears. Very understandable that he would be misled by our interest seeing as we were dancing like the unicyling basketball players we watched at the circus just a few hours before.

Spank me from my ankles, you say? Can’t. We busy.

Once we struck our final pose of this synchronized routine, we decided to invest in our craving of the local “Fucked up lemonades” served at a bar called “Berry Park” nearby, leaving Heyho and Barth at the mercy of the Turkey’s nest.

Bye.

Berry Park was a goddamn success.

Lemonade was there, dignity couldn’t make it, but sent many a bearded man in his place. #Brooklyn.

And at some point, in between telling the bartender he had a really sparkly face and making a toilet paper castle in the nearby restroom—sola—I eventually caught the eye of one lad. One lad that stood above the rest.

But only because I knew this fool.

And he knew me too. He was a friend…of a neighbor’s…friend. I had encountered a few times before. We embraced. Took a pic.

This lad.

And had a conversation that was as sweet as my diabetic lemonade…until he said:

“Man…I haven’t seen you in forever…wait…I think the last time I saw you, you and a friend broke into my apartment at 3 AM, drank all my blue gatorade, threw almonds around my living room, wrapped yourself in my roommate’s bath towels and then started singing the Borat soundtrack.”

I needed to flee.

And I needed to flee now.

I corralled my friends that were not so nearby and forced them to leave the Berry Park premises.

No explanations necessary.

It was now 3:30 AM and we needed to embark on our Upper East Side endeavor—immediately.

YOU are the success story! Hope you follow along with my blog too, as I have great dog stories, hilarious pics of them, and awesome crafts projects too! Our two dogs are success stories too, as we rescued them from the APL and gave them their forever home!

Olive, you and I would have definitely been friends in my younger days. You are fearless and your adventures are hysterical. I loved this. (“GET IN MY MOUTH” – meatballs. So funny.)

I’ve been to New York several times, but twice I went by myself. Traipsed all over the city and had a ball. Met a couple of awesome guys at a Broadway show and took off with them for Mexican food in Greenwich Village and then we closed down the old Limelight. They didn’t take me somewhere and murder me; they dropped me back at my hotel.